e. She was on
the threshold and the light reached to her. Sylvia moved into the
low-roofed room. It was a big, long room, bare, and with a raftered
ceiling, and since one oil lamp lighted it, it was full of shadows. To
Chayne it had a lonely and a dreary look. He thought of his own house in
Sussex and of the evening he had passed there, thinking it just as
lonely. He felt perhaps at this moment, more than at any, the value of
the great prize which he had won. He took her hand in his, and, turning
to Michel, said simply:

"We are married, Michel. We reached Chamonix only this evening. You are
the first of our friends to know of our marriage."

Michel's face lighted up. He looked from one to the other of his visitors
and nodded his head once or twice. Then he blew his nose vigorously. "But
I let you stand!" he cried, in a voice that shook a little, and he
bustled about pushing chairs forward, and of a sudden stopped. He came
forward to Sylvia very gravely and held out his hand. She put her hand
into his great palm.

"Madame, I will not pretend to you that I am not greatly moved. This is a
great happiness to me," he said with simplicity. He made no effort to
hide either the tears which filled his eyes or the unsteadiness of his
voice. "I am very glad for the sake of Monsieur Chayne. But I know him
well. We have been good friends for many a year, madame."

"I know, Michel," she said.

"And I can say therefore with confidence I am very glad for your sake
too. I am also very glad for mine. A minute ago I was sitting here
alone--now you are both here and together. Madame, it was a kind thought
which brought you both here to me at once."

"To whom else should we come?" said Sylvia with a smile, "since it was
you, Michel, who would not let me ascend the Aiguille des Charmoz when I
wanted to."

Michel was taken aback for a moment; then his wrinkled and
weatherbeaten face grew yet more wrinkled and he broke into a low and
very pleasant laugh.

"Since my diplomacy has been so successful, madame, I will not deny it.
From the first moment when I heard you with your small and pretty voice
say on the steps of the hotel 'I am sorry' to my patron in his great
distress, and when I saw your face, too thoughtful for one so young, I
thought it would be a fine thing if you and he could come together. In
youth to be lonely--what is it? You slip on your hat and your cloak and
you go out. But when you are old, and your habits are settl